Your Red Eyes
by Moon Minamino
Summary: Kurama is a young Shogun who is first in line to be Lord.  The fates, however, aspire against him as his younger brother tries to kill him, his father begins to die, and the neighboring Lord starts a war.  The only thing to calm him: His red eyes.  HxK


**Moon:** Here you all, all you YuusukeXKurama haters; some KuramaXHiei love.

I got the idea for this story one night while I was watching the History Channel. The History of Sex: Far East came on and the phrase 'young male prostitute as affair with shogun' was uttered...and, well...

Thanks Ryuuie Mizishi for proofreading this.

I own nothing.

**Prologue**

Thunder boomed overhead, and flashes of lightning were the only source of illumination available outside. The wind was harsh and unforgiving; small saplings stood no chance. The sea took out a dock, and a small fishing boat was lost. The waves broke the shore like land, itself, that would crack under its attack. The people of the small island kingdom, however, did not abandon the roadside.

Four horses came trotting up, splashing mud on the already dirty and soaking wet people who lined the street. Lord Minamino would be returning from the capitol after a three-month journey away from his people. The villagers, like the loyal unquestioning subjects they were, stood to await his return.

They stood in neat rows, lining the muddy street like trees. Their heads were bowed in respect. No one dared to make eye contact with the shoguns, the men riding horseback, or the palanquin that carried their lord and his son. The lowly villagers didn't even dare look at the pure black stallions.

The horses trotted up, two by two. Their saddles were simple and flexible, perfect for their long journey. Baggage was carried on the rump of the stronger ones bred for battle. The men who sat atop the horses wore their large, simple cotton yukata with ornate designs covering the overcoats. They breathed well, made for the hot, steamy rainy season. Despite these well-made cloths, the men wearing them had sweat dripping from their noses. It was masked, however, by the water that rolled down their hair, onto their arms, and down the swords fixed by their sides.

The men were the warrior class shogun hired by the lord for protection. Sometimes this class consisted of the lord's close family and friends who would otherwise be humble in their career. And what lord wants to know or be related to a simpleton?

There were four shoguns in front of the wooden palanquin. The red paint was starting to peel, but the overall affect of the towering mini-castle on the shoulders of servants was breathtaking as the lightning struck and highlighted the sheer might of the seldom-seen carriage made for royalty. There was a clay shingle roof, colored black. It was closed on one side by meshed and woven wood and on the other by now-wet fabric. Silk was the usual curtain of choice, but for the day's wetness, these were cotton.

Four shoguns on black stallions followed the palanquin through the streets. The horse's hooves kicked up mud and splashed the pathetic people. The warriors didn't seem to notice, or care.

Inside of the palanquin sat a tall man with a straight posture. Even though he was hidden from the sight of everyone other than his son, he refused to be anything other than royal. His dry robes hung off of him in such a way that his thin body became muscular. The sword in his lap took special lean against his elbow. He had dark, dark red hair. Most thought it was black, but those who dared to stare long enough found that it was auburn. His eyes were an uncanny shade of dark emerald.

This complimentary color combination was what earned him the title of lord from the emperor. He was such a rarity that most gawked at him with frightened eyes. Most thought that the devil possessed him. Others thought that there was merely too much wood in his eyes and too much fire in his hair. Such an imbalance surely caused the outrageous colors.

As much as Lord Minamino stuck out, his son stuck out more so. Little Minamino Kurama was a mere five years old and three and one-half feet tall. He had yet to grow much, but those years would come later when, hopefully, he would reach his father's height. The young lord-to-be had bright red hair, like fire, and deep green eyes. He had seemingly inherited little if nothing from his mother, a dark-haired woman with chocolate eyes, hardly uncommon in the small island empire.

The young lord was wide awake after the long journey. He had slept for several hours earlier in the day, resting in his father's arms. He had woken only for dinner and then once again when the thunder began. Now he was cranky and antsy. All the young boy wanted was to be free from his wooden prison. Such tight quarters were not to any five year old boy's liking. He was anxious to stretch his small legs and be home with his mother at their wooden palace-like home.

"Kurama," Lord Minamino spoke from his unmoving spot in the middle of the palanquin, amongst the cushions and silk. "Move away from the curtain. You do not want to be wet when we greet your mother."

"I see a boy," little Kurama chirped from his place by the curtain.

"A street urchin, I am sure. No one you should associate with. Now close the curtain before you get mud on your yukata." Lord Minamino's voice was stern, but not angry. It commanded respect and it got it. The young redhead came away from the curtain and settled back down into his father's lap, between the lord and the sword. The sword was almost as long as he was.

From outside the carriage, two red eyes peered up at the procession. A boy with tan skin from working the rice fields all day and piercing red eyes stared at the palanquin without shame as it passed. His normally spiky hair was down around his chin, weighted by the monsoon-like downpour. He wore plain robes, still tied up from moving through the rice paddies. He was up to his shins in mud.

The boy, Hiei, was shorter then the Young Lord Kurama. He had no surname, as he was an orphan. Lord Minamino had been spot on with his street urchin remark. Hiei's parents had died long before he ever knew them, taken when the earth was angry and swallowed them and half of the village whole for their sins. At least that's what he had been told. There had been so many orphans after that incident that there weren't enough people to take them in. Hiei had been one of the few survivors who hadn't been claimed by that winter's harsh snow.

A woman knocked Hiei's head down. "Show respect," she said in a crackling voice. Hiei lowered his head, but allowed his eyes to travel back to the procession. The boy inside had been staring at him.

How strange.

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**Moon:** Note to self: Google is not spell checker.


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